


Distractions

by Nicolefrickle



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, M/M, Pet Names, Pre-Kerberos Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24515335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolefrickle/pseuds/Nicolefrickle
Summary: Shiro drags Keith away to keep him sweet company while he works.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 472





	Distractions

It's dinner time and Keith is sitting in the dining hall eating his food, half-listening to a story being told by one of the other cadets at the table. Lee, he thinks. The loud one who always looks to everyone else for validation, hoping that he's being the least bit funny. Although the wide eyes and smiles rounding the table tell Keith that this time, he is.

The cadets aren't his friends, exactly. But at the same time, they're familiar enough to let Keith slide in with them—even though he rarely has anything to contribute, and even though when he does, it's usually something antagonistic. He'll make a snappy comment and no one will bite back. He's used to that, Keith isn't afraid of a little confrontation. But he gets away with it most of the time because he's just dark and aloof and quiet enough for them to be the tiniest bit scared of him, especially when they'd seen how he flies, how good he is.

And maybe because they'd seen him talking to Shiro—his lieutenant star shiny on his front pocket—and the way Shiro talks to Keith like he's anything but a cadet in training.

He doesn't want to be with them right now, anyway. But Shiro eats with the other lieutenants and generals and all the people who've been writing Keith off for two years, so he doesn't have much choice in the matter of where he sits. It's a given that he'd always rather be at Shiro's side, comfortable, brushing against him without even realizing it, but instead he's here with Lee _et. al._

Compromises.

Keith is taking a sip of his water when Lee's story, the one that'd slowly become the static of radio noise, suddenly stops flat in its tracks. He glances at his sort-of-friend and sees him and everyone else at the table looking up, behind where Keith is sitting, mystified. Stars in their eyes—like they're looking at some cosmic force in action.

And it's the same kind of look he gives Shiro too, but of course he wouldn't know that, the way he melts just like they do in his presence. The way he wouldn't even recognize himself in the mirror if Shiro held one up and asked him to look, to tell him what he sees.

So Keith just thinks they look like morons.

"Cadet," Shiro addresses him.

His mouth twitches around his straw. It's not usually something Shiro does, singling him out like this. His voice moves all the way down Keith's spine and makes him sit up straight and attentive, like a good cadet is trained to do underneath his superiors' thumbs. Still looking straight ahead, he puts his water back on his tray.

"Yes, sir?"

Shiro can't see his smile but surely he can feel it. The way he knows Keith—he can _feel_ it.

Shiro tells him, "I want to go over the timeline of your last flight sim, when you're done eating."

His knee knocks gently against Keith's back, a move that tells him that his smile hadn't gone unnoticed, after all. Shiro is able to feel him out like a glove. The other cadets stare, oblivious, while the point of contact between them intensifies. Something passes between them that settles weightless in Keith's chest, and the fact that they have an audience right now doesn't seem to matter, it never does. The bubble of Shiro and Keith is shrinking down and pressing tightly to their skin. At least from where Keith is sitting.

Keith bites his tongue and wonders if Shiro is pleased by this, seeing him here with the other cadets, tucked neatly into their group like a deck of cards. He's _getting along with them—_ which is Shiro's choice of phrase whenever he mentions in almost-smug passing how difficult Keith can be.

Keith looks across the table. The cadets are like deer in headlights right now, unsure if they need to stand and salute Shiro, or if they get a free pass just like Keith does.

Shiro must nod at them—or something. They smile brightly seemingly on command and those stars in their eyes glow with it.

And Keith still thinks they look stupid, but that's beside the point.

"Right now?" Keith asks him.

"Right now, cadet."

He feels Shiro's knee again, and even more, he feels the weight of Shiro's shadow on his neck, feels the exact way he would be standing over him if Keith turned around to look. His presence is always heavy like this, full of sincere and earned authority—the kind of person you'd follow because you want to, not just because of the star on their jacket. It's in his voice. Everything is, especially when he talks to Keith and it flickers between an octave where he rules him and the one dipping just below that, where Keith can get away with things if he's careful enough.

And Shiro is still speaking in formal ranks, so Keith does too.

_Carefully._

"I'm finished with my food, Sir," he replies. "If you want me."

There's a pause that feels like it swallows the whole room. But then Shiro touches his hand to Keith's shoulder, solid, almost as deliberate as the knee in his back, pushing into his spine.

"Perfect," Shiro says. He squeezes Keith's shoulder before letting him go.

So Keith leaves his tray on the table for the other cadets to deal with, stolen away from giving a damn, and gets up to follow close behind Shiro's heels. Over his shoulder he calls, "Bye, Lee."

("It's Lou...")

Shiro doesn't wait for him to catch up until they make it past the bend in the hallway, a stretch of classrooms out of session. That's when Keith falls in step right beside him, glancing up and looking for that same acknowledgement the other cadets wanted from him, except Keith gets it easy. His sleeve brushes against Shiro's. It's like clockwork, to twist his pinky around his and lock them together.

 _"Baby,"_ Shiro mutters, and Keith wants to liftoff from the ground.

They keep walking for a while, Shiro guiding him wordlessly through the halls. At some point they pass by the training wing without pausing, without even so much as a look in that direction. Keith swallows.

"My flight sim?" he asks.

Shiro glances at him. "Do you _wanna_ talk about it?" He wonders back, in a way that makes it perfectly clear what it was to begin with. Nothing but a nice excuse to take Keith from his fellow cadets.

"Not really," Keith shrugs now, smitten.

"Well, there you go."

So they don't talk about it. Shiro gives him no space to say anything else, either, until they finally reach his room at the end of the hall. He pulls himself free from Keith's hand and steps inside his quarters, leaning near the button on the wall that'll close them in when he pushes it. Through the door frame he eats the sight of Keith, running his tongue along the edges of his incisors, like he's getting ready for a meal.

The door slides shut just as Keith falls in with him. He leans wholly into Shiro's side as his strong arm curls around him, snug to his lower back, pulling Keith flush against his chest.

"Baby..." Shiro mutters, deeper now that they're in private, trailing off into silence. He means something else by it, an unsaid question that Keith responds to like he always does; by tilting his head up, letting Shiro's lips find their rightful place against his.

"Mm," Keith lets it out, the moan he'd been holding onto. Shiro hums right back, filling his mouth with the buzz and kissing him almost lazily, even when his grip doesn't let up to match it. His rough fingers dig into Keith's side like he wants to bury them. _Mine,_ they say, under his skin.

And Keith knows he's Shiro's. Of course he does.

"Sir-" Keith breathes, although the title has nothing to do with keeping appearances, anymore.

After a moment Shiro tilts his head away to reply, breaking their kiss in two. It has Keith practically whining for him. He presses his mouth to the clean-shaven edge of Shiro's jaw to get him back, suckling on it while Shiro tells him, "I wanted you here while I worked." His lips twitch. "Is that bad?"

"Daddy can be bad, if he wants to be," Keith mumbles.

Shiro smiles at his answer, carding his fingers through his messy hair. Keith breathes through it, the sensation of his touch that makes the rest of the garrison melt away, brick by brick, until anything that doesn't _feel_ how Shiro feels right now, doesn't smell how Shiro smells—it gets cast away, too.

"I wanted something pretty to look at," Shiro continues, dragging the dull tips of his nails along Keith's skull. He feels it inside his head, these tingles swirling counter-clockwise.

Keith leans into palm. "Just look?"

"Don't be greedy, baby. I can't focus if I'm touching you." He pulls away to make a point out of it.

But Keith _is_ greedy, and it's Shiro's own fault for dragging him off like he did, treating Keith _special_ in front of the whole garrison, at a table of his almost-friends. Keith wants to do more than look pretty for him. That's never _been_ him—a pretty face and nothing behind it—he thinks he'd go crazy if all Shiro plans to do is keep him at arms-length.

Keith swallows, clutching onto Shiro's jacket and leaning up on his tip-toes. His breath puffs along his cheek as he says, "Put me on your lap while you work."

There's a moment while they both picture it.

"Yeah?" Shiro finally says back. "Is that where you wanna be, keeping Daddy's cock warm?"

 _"Yes,"_ Keith agrees.

"You won't distract me?"

"No, Sir."

"But you know what'll happen, if you do."

He _does_ know. Shiro taught him what would happen the hard way, last time, putting that military discipline to good use. The generals would've been proud of his strong hand—and even prouder of Keith for how he took it. The back of his thighs are still mottled with faint black and purple kisses, while Shiro's teeth marks had faded from his skin already, too soon, which they were both disappointed about. But Shiro wouldn't hesitate to put them back, if he had to. If Keith made him.

But Keith nods his head fiercely in reply, leaning into his chest.

So without another word, Shiro walks him to the big desk pushed against the far wall, sitting down in his chair first, and then pulling Keith right beside his thigh. Shiro's hand comes to rest on the small of his back, pressing in. Finding its place.

"Gotta make it fit, baby," Shiro coos, guiding Keith over his lap. His touch is like following stars, where Keith doesn't even exist until he's settling into the space that Shiro puts him. He bends his knees and lets his arms hang loose, cheek smooshed against his own shoulder, content to let himself be compromised.

And it's so _warm_ on his lap that he can't help but nuzzle closer into it, making himself smaller. Keith breathes heavily while Shiro tugs his pants down, bundling the fabric at the back of his thighs so there's no more skin exposed than is necessary. There's a wet, messy sound as he spits onto his fingers, Keith bucking his hips up while he waits for Shiro to push them in. And when he does, it's both at once. He knows just what Keith can take and how much wiggle room there is beyond it.

Keith's mouth parts into an 'o' when it happens, a throaty noise falling from his lips as Shiro slides his fingers all the way inside, knuckle-deep. Keith knows he should be thanking him for touching him like this. But his thoughts are already rolling forward to Shiro's cock, to being full of his Daddy, sitting on his lap while he does such important work— _lieutenant Shiro—_ letting Keith hold him in and be his cocksleeve.

"Daddy—!" he calls out as Shiro's fingers curl just right and put clouds in his head, dizzying.

"I've got you."

Keith groans, gyrating his hips while he's stretched and scissored. It's too hard for him to be patient, he isn't built for it. "It's good, _please—"_

 _"I_ say when it's good," Shiro chides, curling his fingers again to make Keith listen. "I wanna be nice and snug inside you." He doesn't stop until Keith's legs are trembling, knees knocking together while he tries to keep himself from sliding right onto the floor.

He knows Shiro's done when he wipes his sticky fingers off on Keith's thigh, cupping his little, round ass afterward to give it a loving squeeze. "Sit up," he mutters, and Keith follows along, anything he says. Any way that he wants him.

Keith stands up on wobbly legs and lets his pants fall to the floor completely, almost _shy_ when he's naked like Shiro's never seen him before, never memorized him; his skinny thighs, his pretty chest. Shiro drinks him in until he's full again. And then he spreads his legs and Keith crawls onto his lap, feeling the press of Shiro's lips against his sweaty forehead when he does, giving him all the reason he needs to reach down and free Shiro's cock like he's been dying to. His cheeks flush when he brushes against the hard bulge. Shiro's voice is swirling everywhere as he fumbles with the buttons, _Good boy, that's it,_ and Keith can't pull him out fast enough.

His cock throbs once it's been unbound, lying in Keith's hand while he strokes it sweetly. Shiro looks down with him and watches how he holds it, in-between their bodies.

"I'll make you feel good, Daddy," Keith whispers, with a little squeeze.

"I know, baby, I'll let you take care of me. That what you want?" He asks, like Keith hasn't been drooling for it all this time.

Keith readjusts himself on his lap. _"Yes,"_ he says. But even though he's never felt needier in his whole life, he waits for Shiro's say-so because it makes him happy when Keith acts that way, obedient to his every word. A diligent rule-follower when it's Shiro's voice on the commanding end, asking the world of him because he knows he can bring it.

Shiro meets his eyes and holds Keith right there with him. "Sit on it. Keep me warm," he says, and the look on his face is devastating.

So Keith is desperate for it now, lifting his hips and lining the head up with his little, wet hole, sinking down, down, until he's settled back on the tops of Shiro's thighs, breathy and hot. Full of him. He leans forward against Shiro's chest, fisting his shirt to keep steady because it feels like he might melt to liquid, if he had nothing to hold. Or something even more permanent, that he'd crumble into his most basic components to be sent into space and reused endlessly.

He moans, his tongue dripping, _"Hhn,"_ and Shiro smiles so fondly that it could wrap his heart in a bow, twice-over.

"Look at you. You were made for me."

And isn't Shiro right about that, with his cock carving a nice spot in Keith's guts, just like he wanted.

"Mm," Keith agrees, kissing his scratchy throat, lips open while they drag across his skin. "I'm yours."

"Pretty boy," Shiro mutters. "Stay just like that. Let Daddy work, now."

Keith makes himself comfortable. He curls his legs around Shiro's back, clinging to him on the chair and settling in for however long Daddy needs him like this; forever, if he wants. As if Keith could stop him from taking more and more. He sits right there on his lap, fixated on the feeling of him, the way his cock pulses even when neither of them move.

He's so _aware_ of him. Everything. Shiro furrows his brows in concentration, keeping a hand on Keith's hip when it isn't too busy turning papers, and in return Keith is allowed these light, fleeting touches where he can trace him back, explore him; anything, as long as it doesn't distract Daddy from his work. And all the while Shiro's heart beats back against his small chest, in this cosmic game of call and answer—like it always does. The way they always are. Keith takes care of him, and Shiro's cock stays fat and full, plugging him.

It's hard not to be a little restless, though—sitting on his cock—no matter how much he concentrates on being a good cadet, a good boy. He can't stay still. Keith wiggles ever-so-slightly against him and hears Shiro sigh in response, twitching, readjusting, having a bad time of keeping himself from touching Keith back. But Daddy has important work to do, he keeps the world spinning. Keith is only here to make sure his cock doesn't get lonely while he goes round and round.

"Daddy..." Keith's voice trails off into his collarbone, and Shiro's breath stretches out for so long he might never get it back.

Keith could stay like this for hours, he thinks. Feeding on small reactions like that while he's still free to touch Shiro, kiss Shiro, as long as it's feather-light and not distracting. Which he won't be. He's a good boy, a pretty cocksleeve. Shiro says so, at least.

Keith loops his arms around Shiro's neck, leaning against him until the warmth devours him inside-out.

All Keith feels is the comfort of his Daddy, and the scratch of his pen-loops, the rustle of papers. It falls in line almost rhythmically, and soon Keith is so sleepy and full.

He squeezes his thighs against Shiro's torso as he drifts. . .

And then suddenly, even though it feels like no time at all had passed, Shiro dips his head down to go, "I'm finished, now."

Keith opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering against the side of his neck. His arms wrap tighter around Shiro's broad shoulders.

"Look at me, baby."

Keith draws back and does as he's told, looking at him, eaten alive by him. Shiro kisses him long and sweet. Their lips move like syrup and keep sticking back together just when Keith thinks he'll pull away, and it doesn't take long to feel Shiro start throbbing again, growing inside him, needy for his pretty boy after he'd done so well in keeping him warm, all this time.

 _"Shiro,"_ he pants.

"Yeah? Is that what you call me, when you want me to fuck you properly?"

Keith shakes his head, frantically correcting himself, _"Daddy,_ please fuck me, I can't take it-"

"Can't take it?" Shiro rolls his hips, digging his cock around in his guts like there's any room left to fill. "Sure about that?"

And Keith's moan is all the incentive he needs to start fucking him in earnest, slow and deep, showing Keith how well-equipped he is to take every inch he's given. Shiro holds him like there's no one more precious, and Keith believes it to be so, clinging to him back. The chair legs rattle on the wooden floor but Keith only hears whatever filthy, perfect things Shiro keeps whispering to drown everything else out. He doesn't let Keith have a single breath to recover.

"Baby, so pretty, so good for me," Shiro groans, clutching both of Keith's slim thighs and helping him grind, moving him with the intent to have him, to love him, to fuck him through that love. His voice keeps dropping— _low._

"You're a dream."

Heat blooms from Keith's chest, wide and hungry enough to feel the spread all the way in his toes, how it doesn't let go of his body. He never knows what to do, when Shiro envelops him like this. _"Fuck,"_ he whines, "Wanna be full, full of Daddy's cum."

"You deserve it."

Then there's a potent thrust that has Keith seeing stars; the same ones that swirl around him when he looks at Shiro, looks in that mirror, wondering how they could ever be separate. Keith loses control of his body and mutters, half out of his mind, _"I love you."_

And Shiro fills his baby with warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> so... hello sheith fandom :*)


End file.
